


Sham

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:21:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21842095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: The Crown tries to make it look like Noct has friends.
Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum
Comments: 16
Kudos: 255





	Sham

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Royal photoshoots are always incredibly awkward, but this is easily one of the worst, and he has his own father to blame for it. It’s bad enough that the Citadel allows them _at all_ —he knows they’re trying to control their own press release, leaking their own pictures rather than relying on the hastily-snapped tabloids, but they’re going about it all wrong. Noctis even asks if he can just take a few selfies with his own phone, but his father looks at him like he’s lost his mind.

His father makes him wear a ridiculous suit that ages him about two dozen years. Ignis combs his hair down like it’s picture day in the fourth grade. Then he shows up to the designated wing of the Citadel, and the photographer actually has a stylist gel his hair back completely. He looks like an idiot in the enormous floor-length mirror hanging on the east wall. He doesn’t look like _himself_. They make him sit on the old baroque chez lounge in front of a fireplace that doesn’t even work with two fake tropical trees on either side. But the absolute worst part of all is that they actually bring in another young man dressed in a snazzy sleeveless black shirt and tight jeans, and they tell him to sit next to Noctis and pretend they’re _friends_.

Noctis used to actually have nightmares about his father trying to _buy_ him friends. It’s so much more humiliating to have it happen in adulthood. He knows they’re just trying to make him look normal, approachable, not like a crazed loser who only ever hangs out with his own advisor and shield, but it just makes him feel wildly _abnormal._ He’s such a _loser_.

He’s tempted to ask if he can pose with Ignis instead, because at least Ignis already knows his lonely shame. But it’d feel so rude to say that in front of the poor model, who smiles sheepishly at Noctis but, for the most part, looks just as awkward as he feels. It’s not poor blondie’s fault that he’s a pawn in the Citadel’s judgmental bullshit. He sits as close as the photographer tells him to, folding his thin legs one over the other and pressing his knees against Noctis’ thigh, even turning his pretty head and parting his pink lips like Noctis has just told him a fascinating joke. The photographer tells them to laugh, and Noctis just grits his teeth and feels stupid. He stares at the myriad of little freckles dotting the blond’s peach-coloured cheeks and waits for the camera to flash. 

He wonders why blondie gets to keep more natural, spiked hair that looks like it’s silk-soft and would be so fun to finger-comb. Blondie’s big blue eyes catch on Noctis’ gaze, then hurriedly look away. The photographer orders, “Pomptu, spread your legs out more.”

“Prompto,” the blond corrects, but the photographer waves her hand to indicate she doesn’t care. Noctis makes note of the name. He’d been too busy pouting earlier to catch it. Prompto turns fully sideways, body facing Noctis, and sticks one long leg over the side of the couch. He sits up a little straighter, trim figure arching forward. It’s just chilly enough in the room that Noctis can see the faint imprints of his pebbled nipples pushing at the fabric of his shirt. At least he’s a super _cute_ fake friend. 

The photographer takes another few shots, then steps away from her tripod, suddenly diverting to her phone. She holds up her hand as though to indicate _wait one minute_ , and she actually wanders off to answer it.

Prompto lets out a breath like physically deflating. Noctis can feel the same release of pressure. He’s already decided he doesn’t like her. He’s glad when she actually wanders out of the large room, her babbling voice trailing faintly through the open door. 

It leaves Noctis and the model alone, which would be great in any other setting—primarily one where Prompto wasn’t paid to be there. Noctis shifts in his seat and picks at the seam on his pants, waiting while the seconds tick down. 

The photographer doesn’t come back. Prompto shifts too, pulling back a little. The silence just becomes tenser. Noctis knows he should be the one to break it, and he finally coughs and mutters, “Uh... sorry if this is... I dunno, weird. I dunno why my dad’s trying to make it look like I have normal friends...”

“Hey, I’m not judging,” Prompto instantly answers, waving his hands. He has a dark wristband around one: one of many accessories packed with style. Noctis appreciates the sentiment but wouldn’t at all begrudge Prompto’s judgment. It’s definitely weird, and he knows it. 

He tries to play it off like funny instead of depressing and jokes, “I hope the council at least gets some good pictures out of this.”

“They probs won’t.”

“What?”

Prompto colours and scratches his head, letting out a forced laugh. “I mean, it’s nothing... sorry...”

“No, what do you mean?”

Frowning and dropping his hand, Prompto quietly admits, “It’s just... I feel like she’s got too many artificial light sources set up there; this room has amazing windows, so she should’ve used more natural light. And she’s got no sense of composition... this setup is gonna make this whole shoot look _totally_ staged. I mean, I know it _is_ staged, but, like... if they were trying to make you look more ‘normal’, then...” He just sort of trails off, but Noctis gets the gist. He had the same feeling when he walked in to see her wall of equipment. 

He notes, “You really know your stuff.”

Prompto shrugs his bare shoulders. “Not really. I, uh... I just really want to be a photographer some day...”

Noctis nods like he understands, even though he knows absolutely nothing about photography. It seems like Prompto has a passion for it, so he’d probably be good at. But Noctis winds up blurting out, “Do you model instead because you’re so cute?” And he _immediately_ wants to take it back, but it’s too late. He has no game at all.

Prompto’s already blushing bright red, which somehow makes him even more attractive. He splutters, “As if! Dude!” He even bats at Noctis’ shoulder like Noctis was teasing him, and that makes a smile tug at Noctis’ lips before he can stop it. He’s not used to people calling him _dude_ , but the colloquialism’s definitely appreciated—much better than _Your Highness._ Prompto adds, “And I probably look extra ugly sitting next to you, Mr. Hottest Bachelor in Insomnia...”

Noctis blushes right back. “N-no way!” Prompto actually throws a hand over his face to hide it like _he’s_ the one crazy embarrassing himself. Noctis insists, “Besides, I look like a total tool with my hair gelled like this...”

Prompto peeks through his fingers and admits, muffled against his palm, “Yeah, it was better before they did that.”

Noctis is both twice as embarrassed for not looking as good as he could in front of someone super good looking, and also bizarrely pleased for someone to admit he’s _not_ perfect. Unfortunately, in front of Prompto, Noctis would rather be perfect.

He reaches up and tries to riffle through it, but he might just be making it worse. Prompto quietly ventures, “Um... could I maybe...?”

“Sure.” If Prompto’s offering to _touch_ Noctis in any way, Noctis is in.

Prompto does. He tentatively lifts his hands to Noctis’ head, sliding his fingers carefully through Noctis’ dark hair. He sucks in a palpable breath, eyes wide as he brushes against the grain.

When Noctis not only doesn’t stop it, but leans eagerly into the touch, Prompto seems to gain confidence—he ruffles it properly, then frantically, and Noctis has to laugh and pull away. Grinning, Prompto mumbles, “Sorry?”

Noctis shakes his head out. He tries to quickly put it back to how he thinks it should look, which isn’t easy with the only mirror in the room too far away and at the wrong angle to check. Noctis isn’t about to get off the chez lounge and go look, not when he’s got Prompto right next to him. He just has to trust Prompto’s taste. He asks, “How do I look?”

Prompto looks at him, then swallows back the grin with a little gulp and breathes, “Super gorgeous.”

Noctis smiles. 

He hears footsteps coming and hurriedly looks around so he won’t get caught making heart-eyes at the model. Ignis is the one to stroll across the polished tile—Noctis can only hope the council didn’t change their mind and send a replacement for Prompto. 

Ignis tells them both, “The photographer has asked for a lunch break. Shall I bring you something?”

Noctis almost groans at having the photoshoot last even longer, but then he realizes that means more Prompto time, so he keeps quiet. He just nods, and Ignis asks, “Mr. Argentum, is it? Would you like something as well? Any dietary restrictions?”

“Uh... sure, thanks. I mean, no restrictions.” Prompto smiles awkwardly up at Ignis, who pauses, glancing between them. Noctis can only hope he doesn’t look as obvious as he feels. If Ignis does know, he doesn’t say it. 

He leaves again, and Noctis, figuring they’ll have even more time alone, tries, “So... do you play King’s Knight?”

“ _Do_ I?” Prompto positively beams before whipping out an old phone mounted in a plush chocobo case. 

Noctis is _so_ going to get his friend code, and then, with any luck, his number.


End file.
